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Created by Chef Elsa
A rustic rye-wheat loaf built on a Dampfl pre-ferment, with a dark crackling crust, caraway running through the crumb, and enough character to carry you from breakfast through evening Jause.
The bread I remember most clearly from our trips to Austria isn't from a famous bakery. It's from a wooden board at a Gasthaus table in the Salzkammergut, sliced thick and served alongside butter and a pot of Liptauer. Dark crust, flour-dusted top, a crumb that held together when you spread cold butter across it but still had enough give to feel alive under your teeth. That was Landbrot. Country bread. The kind every Austrian household keeps on the counter under a cloth, slicing from it all week until it's time to bake or buy another.
Landbrot is not a white bread and it's not a heavy black rye. It sits between the two: a blend of rye and wheat flour that gives you the earthy, slightly sour depth of rye with enough wheat gluten to hold a proper shape and slice cleanly. The balance is everything. Too much rye and the loaf goes dense and sticky. Too much wheat and you've lost the character that makes this Austrian and not just another country bread.
What makes this recipe work is the Dampfl. That's the Austrian term for a pre-ferment, a small mixture of rye flour, water, yeast, and a touch of honey that you let bubble and rise before mixing your main dough. The Dampfl gives the crumb its soft, open character and develops a gentle tang that deepens over the days the loaf sits on your counter. Gretel always said good bread needs time. The Dampfl is how you give it that time without spending your whole day in the kitchen.
Austrian bread traditions reflect the country's position at the crossroads of Alpine and Central European grain cultures. Rye thrived in the cooler mountain regions while wheat dominated the lowland plains, and the practice of blending the two flours into mixed Mischbrot and Landbrot goes back centuries. Every Austrian province has its own bread identity: Tyrol favors dense, dark rye loaves, Styria is known for its pumpkin seed breads, and the Salzburg region produces a lighter rye-wheat blend that sits comfortably on the table from breakfast through evening Jause, the Austrian tradition of a light meal built around bread, cold cuts, and cheese.
Quantity
100g
Quantity
130ml
Quantity
7g
Quantity
1 teaspoon
Quantity
200g
Quantity
350g
Quantity
280ml
Quantity
12g
Quantity
1 tablespoon
lightly crushed
| Ingredient | Quantity |
|---|---|
| rye flour (Roggenmehl), for the Dampfl | 100g |
| warm water (about 38°C/100°F), for the Dampfl | 130ml |
| fresh yeast (or 3g active dry yeast) | 7g |
| honey | 1 teaspoon |
| rye flour (Roggenmehl), for the main dough | 200g |
| strong bread flour (or Austrian Type W700) | 350g |
| warm water, for the main dough | 280ml |
| fine salt | 12g |
| caraway seedslightly crushed | 1 tablespoon |
Crumble the fresh yeast into a medium bowl (or sprinkle dry yeast over the surface). Add 130ml warm water and the honey, stir gently until dissolved. Mix in the 100g of rye flour until you have a thick, paste-like batter. Cover with a clean tea towel and let it sit in a warm spot for 30 minutes. When it's ready, the surface will be bubbly and slightly domed. It should smell yeasty and faintly sweet. This is your Dampfl, the pre-ferment that gives the bread its character. Don't skip it. Without the Dampfl, you'll have bread. With it, you'll have Landbrot.
Combine the remaining 200g rye flour and the 350g bread flour in a large bowl. Make a well in the center and scrape in the risen Dampfl. Add 280ml warm water, the salt, and the crushed caraway seeds. Mix everything together with a wooden spoon or your hand until a shaggy, rough dough forms. It will look unpromising. That's fine. Rye dough never looks elegant at this stage.
Turn the dough onto a lightly floured surface and knead for ten minutes. Rye dough behaves differently than pure wheat. It's stickier, denser, and won't develop the same elastic stretch. Don't add flour by the fistful trying to fight the stickiness. Wet your hands with a little water instead. You're looking for a dough that's smooth, slightly tacky to the touch, and holds its shape when you stop working it. The caraway seeds will press into the surface and disappear into the crumb. That's where you want them.
Place the dough in a lightly oiled bowl, turn it once so the surface is coated, and cover tightly with cling film or a damp towel. Let it rise in a warm place for one hour. It won't double the way a white bread dough does. Rye ferments differently. Expect it to grow by roughly half its original size. The surface should look pillowy and feel soft when you press it gently with a floured finger.
Turn the dough onto a lightly floured surface. Press it gently to release the larger gas bubbles, then pull the edges toward the center, rotating as you go, to form a tight round. Flip it seam-side down and cup your hands around the ball, rotating it against the counter to build surface tension on the outside. The surface should feel taut, like a drum skin. Place the shaped loaf seam-side up in a well-floured proving basket (Gärkörbchen) or a bowl lined with a heavily floured tea towel. Rye flour is best for dusting here because it won't absorb into the dough the way wheat flour does. Cover and let it prove for 45 minutes.
While the loaf proves, place a baking stone or a heavy baking tray upside down on the middle rack of your oven. Set an empty roasting tin on the bottom rack. Preheat to 230°C (450°F). You want the stone screaming hot before the bread goes in. This initial blast of heat is what drives the oven spring, that dramatic rise in the first ten minutes that gives Landbrot its rounded shape and crackling crust.
Turn the proved loaf onto a sheet of baking parchment, seam-side down. The flour pattern from the proving basket should be sitting on top now, pale against the dark dough. Using a sharp knife or a razor blade, score the top with a deep cross or three confident parallel slashes, about one centimeter deep. Don't be timid. The scores control where the bread opens as it expands in the oven. Slide the loaf on its parchment onto the hot baking stone. Pour a cup of water into the roasting tin below and close the oven door immediately. That burst of steam is what gives Landbrot its thick, blistered crust. Bake at 230°C for 15 minutes, then reduce to 200°C (400°F) and bake for another 35 minutes. The loaf is done when it sounds hollow if you tap the bottom with your knuckle. Let it cool completely on a wire rack for at least one hour. I know the smell makes this difficult. But the crumb needs time to set. Cut too early and it will be gummy and dense. This is the last act of patience the bread asks of you.
1 serving (about 80g)
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